


Left Hook

by lielabell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-25
Updated: 2011-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-21 18:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lielabell/pseuds/lielabell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, against all odds, he's fallen in love.  With an angel.  Who won't have anything to do with him.  Which, really, is the story of Dean's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left Hook

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to my lovely beta, cymbalism219!

  


**Left Hook**  


Dean learned at a young age how to be self-reliant. And he's glad he did. Because otherwise he would have wasted years moping about how he has no friends and how nobody likes him the way Sam did. Which, really, there is only room for one angst-ridden, woe-filled person per family. And Sam, Sam has that market cornered. So, it's a good thing that Dean doesn’t play well with others.

Except.

Well, now he's an adult. Not just a twenty-something either, mind. He's in his _thirties_ , which is about the time that you start to realize that not playing well with others means being perpetually alone. And that sort of sucks majorly.

All of which explains why he latches onto the weirdly one-sided friendship offered by Castiel. Because men of a certain age need at least one friend. And Dean is that age. And Cas, well, he’s there.

If he is honest, he has to admit that isn’t the best basis for friendship. But that doesn’t really seem to matter all that much because Dean actually likes Cas. A lot. To the point where Dean finds himself purposely seeking Cas’s company out of more than just a need to not be alone. It turns out that he enjoys the socially awkward angel’s perspective. Wants to get his take on things, figure out what makes him tick.

Although sometimes finding out what make someone tick means finding out that they are the most infuriating person in the world. Or, you know, angel. Whatever the case may be.

*

Dean isn’t sure why he’s so mad, just that he is. He’s all up in Cas’s face, jabbing his finger in the angel’s chest to emphasize his point. Cas, for his part, is practically foaming at the mouth. He slaps Dean’s hand away and growls out something about fools and their need to prove their foolishness. Which just pisses Dean off more, because he is _not_ a fool.

“Now you listen to me,” he snarls as he moves closer, his eyes boring into Cas’s baby blues.

Cas’s nostrils flair. “No.” He gives his head a rough shake. “It is time for you to listen to me. Free will isn’t an excuse for you to do whatever occurs to you. There is a level of responsibility inherent in it.”

“Bull,” Dean shoots back. “Anyone can do anything they want at any time. That’s what free will is all about. There isn’t some fine print statement somewhere that says that by accepting free will you are promising to always look before you leap. And if you think that there is, well that just proves that you’ve still got a long way to go before you figure out what being human really means.”

“Free will is humanity’s ability to make choices free from the constraints that my Father put on my brothers, my sisters and myself. But that does not mean that he intended for you to run amok.”

Dean rolls his eyes in response and lets out an aggrieved sound. Cas opens his mouth, but Dean decides that he has heard all he wants to hear. “You know what free will means?” he asks and, before Cas can answer what is clearly a rhetorical question, he closes the distance between them.

Kissing Castiel isn’t something that Dean has ever really given much thought to, but it feels right, as natural as breathing, and it sends a bolt of electricity racing through Dean’s veins. Like he’s somehow locked lips with a live-wire or something. But a million times better. Because Cas _moans_. And suddenly there is this heat pooling in Dean’s stomach and this ache in his balls and that’s nothing at all compared to the way his dick throbs when Cas rocks against him.

Dean’s hands tug at Cas’s hips, trying to pull him closer, as he nips his way down Cas’s neck. Dean slides his thigh between Cas’s legs and is reward with a harsh growl of pleasure. Cas’s fingers tangle in Dean’s hair, gripping almost painfully tight and he ruts against Dean as they explore each other’s mouths. They don’t break apart until Dean’s lightheaded from lack of oxygen and Cas’s lips look like he’s been doing something a whole lot dirtier than kissing.

“That’s what free will means,” Dean says once he manages to catch his breath, like that in any way proves his point. But Cas doesn’t call him on it. He just licks those swollen lips of his and nods, his eyes glazing over in a way that makes Dean want to get real naked real fast, and Dean realizes that maybe this is what he was looking for from the angel all along. “Want me to show you what else I can do with my free will?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the bed.

“Yes,” Cas says before angling his head and giving Dean another of those live-wire kisses.

*

After that they shift from friends to something more. What, exactly, that “more” is Dean isn’t really all that interested in exploring, choosing instead to just let things play out on their own. And, truth be told, he’s not at all displeased with the result.

Dean and Cas don’t date or hold hands or act all schmoopy with each other, but they do spend nearly all of their free time together. They go to cheesy B horror movies, stay up late enough to watch the sun rise over the hood of the Impala, and talk about everything and anything. They go hunting together. They tease and bicker and have inside jokes.

Everything isn’t always hearts and stars, but it isn’t ever terrible either. And, for the first time in his life, Dean can honest-to-God see himself growing old with someone. Of course, the someone in question will never grow old. But that is beside the point. What matters is that they are together and they are happy.

And, sure, there are moments when Dean wonders why Cas, who is an Angel of the Lord and can pretty much have anyone he wants, is interested in a screw-up like him, but they are few and far between. For the most part, he’s just too damn happy to be worried about the future.

Which, in and of itself, should have been a warning sign.

*

It’s a quarter after five on a Saturday and Dean is lounging on his bed in front of the TV. It’s hot enough outside to make your teeth melt and, since Sam is off doing God knows what, Dean has decided to not bother with a shirt. When Cas shows up Dean sort of hopes that they will make the most of Sam's absence, but instead the angel just settles on the bed next to him, seemingly content to do nothing more than watch afternoon TV.

They sit in companionable silence, enjoying each other's company, until a commercial for the next summer blockbuster comes on screen. Dean snorts. "Dude, Hollywood wouldn't know an original thought if it bit them on the ass," he says as the commercial comes to an end.

"Dean," Cas starts, his face covered in that particular brand of confused-angel Dean knows so well.

"Let me guess," Dean cuts him off, half amused and half annoyed, "you don't get it."

Cas frowns at him. "I would if you explained it to me."

Dean sighs. "That's the whole point, Cas. The _not_ having to explain it. If I have to, then the joke isn't funny any more."

"The joke isn't funny to start with."

"Yes it is." Dean runs his hand through his hair. "Look, I get it. I do. You aren't human. You never watched cartoons on Saturday mornings and the opening notes to A New Hope do nothing for you. But, Cas, come on. Can't you do a little research? Find a way to fake it or something?"

Cas rests his elbows on his knees and links his hands together, leaning forward with an intense look on his face. "I could. But I would rather learn from you. You are much more interesting than a computer. And, besides, I don't know what to research in advance. What would you rather have me do? Ask you to explain yourself, or tell you that I will be back shortly and then go research the reference on my own?"

Dean knows his expression is surly, the same way he knows that Cas has a point, but neither really seem to matter right now. "Both of those options suck, Cas." He shakes his head and glowers at the TV like it’s the TV’s fault they are having this conversation. "I wish there was some way I could just download all the important shit you need to know into your brain." He glances at Cas and smirks a little. "You sure you can't do a Vulcan mind meld?"

Cas smiles back at him. "No, Dean. I can't. I am not a Vulcan. I'm an angel. I believe I have explained the difference before."

"See! That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Dean slings his arm over Cas's shoulder, pulling him out of his I'm-thinking-so-hard posture.

The angel relaxes into Dean's side, his hand coming up to rest on Dean's knee. "Of course not. You've explained the reference to me before. I haven't forgotten. I don't forget anything you tell me."

A little spark of something flares up in Dean's chest and a besotted smile spreads itself across his lips. He's about as happy as he can ever remember being, so, of course, Sam has to walk in and ruin things.

"Aw," Sam says, his eyes practically twinkling with mischief. "Aren't the two of you just the sweetest thing ever?"

Dean scowls and flips him off. "Shove it." Cas lets out an amused laugh and Dean beams at him. "Look at you, two in a row."

"I have a very good teacher," Cas replies, tipping his head up to stare into Dean's eyes.

"And I have a toothache. Thanks guys," Sam says cheerfully, killing all the happy feelings that had been living Dean's chest.

"Don't you have somewhere else you can be?" Dean grumps.

Sam shakes his head and settles on to the other bed. "Nope." He crosses his arms over his chest and grins at Dean. "Nothing else to do until some big bad pops up on the grid. Nothing except sit here and watch you and Cas make lovesick puppy eyes at each other, that is."

"Lovesick puppy eyes?" Cas repeats, his brow furrowed. He turns to Dean, clearly looking for an explanation.

Dean shakes his head at him then gives Sam his best fuck-off-and-die stare. "I am not a lovesick anything, thank you very much, now shut your piehole. You're making me miss _Dr. Sexy, M.D._ " He grabs the remote and turns the volume up loud enough to make him wince.

Sam, however, is not at all deterred. "What's wrong with being lovesick?" he shouts over the dialog. "I think it's great. You and Cas can move to Massachusetts, settle down and do that whole white picket fence, a dog and an adopted Chinese daughter thing. Maybe it's not one hundred percent apple pie, but hey, a lot of people like peach cobbler too."

Dean chucks the remote at him, which ends up being a shitty idea on two counts. One, because Sam just catches it, and two, because he then uses it to turn off the TV.

"Hey!" Dean disentangles himself from Cas and punches Sam's bicep. "I was watching that."

"Excuse me if I want to have a meaningful discussing with my brother about his life choices," Sam snips back, aiming a punch of his own at Dean.

Dean dodges the blow and then rolls his eyes. "Life choices my ass."

"It's alright to be in love, you know," Sam teases and then dives for cover behind the far side of the bed. Dean follows him over it, and manges to pin him to the floor.

"I am not in love," he grates out, emphasizing each word by tightening his grip. "And even if I was, I sure as shit wouldn't move to New England and start pining over the father of the year award, you douche."

Sam laughs. In his face. "Yeah, right. You're not in love. Whatever makes you sleep better at night." Then he does something with his hips and Dean's face is suddenly up close and personal with the nasty shag carpet.

"Get off," he bellows, trying to get his knees under him so he can break free of Sam's hold.

Sam chuckles. "No way in hell, big brother."

"Dude!" Dean bucks and twists. "A little help here, Cas?"

Sam slaps the back of Dean’s head. "Asking your boyfriend to help is a bitch move."

Dean snorts. "Cas isn't my boyfriend. And it's not a bitch move, because I'm not a bitch. You on the other hand," he trails off as he finally gets his knees under him and pushes up. He spins in the air and comes down on top of Sam. Dean digs his elbow into Sam's gut and laughs at his brother's curses. "How do you like them apples," he crows.

"I hate you," Sam replies.

"Please. You love me. And you know it." Dean digs his elbow in a little deeper, then gets to his feet and offers Sam a hand. "A fat lot of good you were, Cas," he says as he helps Sam up. There is no reply, however. Dean frowns. "Cas?" he drops Sam's hand and turns towards his bed. But the angel is no where to be seen.

*

Things start to go sideways shortly thereafter. Cas, who had become a near daily visitor, starts staying away for longer and longer periods. At first Dean thinks it's no big deal. Because Cas pretty much comes and goes as he pleases.

But then, well, things are just off between them. Dean can't exactly pinpoint what it is that makes him think feel that way, but he can't shake the feeling that things are definitely not kosher.

Cas is more gruff, less willing to let things roll of his shoulders. He gives Dean these intense looks, just like he used to before they got together. And Dean isn't really upset to see them return -- there is something decidedly hot about having one of those soul-searching possessive looks aimed in his direction -- but he's not thrilled about it either. Because, honestly, he thought that they were beyond all that now, that they had moved into a more serious, established relationship. Or at least a relationship where each person is confident enough in the other's interest not to go all mad-dog possessive boyfriend on them.

Not that they are boyfriends or anything. Or that Cas has been outright possessive or jealous. He just gives off the vibe. In a major way.

And there's nothing Dean can do about it. He just isn't the type to do the whole talk-about-your-feelings thing. Besides, he could just be blowing things way out of proportion. After all, they aren't dating or anything. They're just hanging out. Having some fun. And Dean doesn't want to do anything to ruin that.

Still, he does make more of an effort with Cas, tries to be more understanding, less snappy and all that jazz. Dean starts making sure that they have more one-on-one time and less time hanging around watching crap TV with Sam. Things don't dramatically improve between them as a result, but those creepy-intense stares do start to show up a little less frequently, and Dean thinks that's a good sign. Or at least as good a sign as anything can be.

And, yeah, so maybe he sometimes wishes that he _was_ the sort of guy who did that whole talk-about-your-feelings thing or that Cas would maybe tell him what they are to each other, but Dean doesn't dwell on it. Because everyone has an off day or two every now and then, right?

*

They are sitting in a bar in the middle of Wyoming after a pretty nasty tangle with a vampire nest when a girl who doesn’t look old enough to be in the joint saunters over to their table. She’s got bottle-blonde hair and a few too many tattoos for Dean’s taste. But that doesn’t seem to matter, since she leans her hip on the table next to Cas and gives him a come-and-get-it smile.

"You aren't from around here," the girl says, her eyes half-lidded and a cigarette dangling from her cherry red lips.

Cas doesn't look up from the shot glass in front of him. "No."

"Not very talkative, is he?" the girl asks, nudging Dean with her foot.

Dean lifts a shoulder. "He's more of the strong, silent type," he replies. “You want chatty, you should try my brother.” Dean nods in Sam’s direction, grinning in response to the aggrieved look on Sam’s face.

"What about you?" She gives him a sleepy smile. "What type would you say you are?"

Dean opens his mouth to say something witty but is cut off by Cas, who growls out, "The type who is taken."

Her eyes go wide as her gaze dances from him to Dean and back again. "Oh," she says, managing to give the word about five extra syllables. She taps her cigarette and ash falls to the ground. "Well," a fluff of the hair, "isn't it just my lucky day? I love to share."

Cas jerks back like she's slapped him. "I don’t."

Dean eyes the girl speculatively. "Come on, Cas," he teases. "It'll be fun."

Cas tosses back his shot. "You definition of fun leaves much to be desired."

The girl rolls her eyes, takes a deep pull of her cigarette and blows the smoke in Cas's face. "Your loss, sweetheart," she says as she struts away.

"I haven’t lost anything," Cas says to her back, he turns to Dean, his face a study of confusion.

“She means that you, uh, will regret not taking her up on her offer,” he explains. He tilts his head to the side and watches her roll her hips as she walks. “I know I will.”

Cas scowls. “There is nothing for you to regret,” he snaps.

Dean shakes his head and laughs, tossing back a shot of his own. "You've got to lighten up," he admonishes. "Trying new things keeps the relationship fresh and exciting."

Sam chokes on his beer. "God, Dean, when did you start reading Cosmo?"

Dean scowls at him. "That was Oprah."

"Oh, 'cause that makes it better."

"Philistine," Dean says as he signals the barkeep for another round.

Cas shifts in his seat, his hands wrapping tightly around the empty glass in front of him. "You don't find our relationship to be exciting?" he asks, his eyes firmly on the scarred wood of the bar.

"Cas," Dean starts, but he can't think of how to finish. Not with Sam sitting there with ears wide open and an amused expression on his face.

"Interesting." Cas pushes up from his chair.

"Wait a minute," Dean blusters, catching hold of the back of Cas's trench coat. "Where are you going?"

Cas turns his head and gives Dean a look so empty that it causes ice to form in Dean's stomach. He shrugs free of Dean's grip and makes for the door. Dean tosses a handful of bills on the table and then darts after him. But he's not nearly fast enough and when he gets outside there is nothing to greet him but the wind.

*

It's for the best, Dean tells himself. Things were getting a little out of hand anyway. Cas has been acting weird for a ways now. And it was all beginning to matter a little too much. So it’s a good thing that they are having some time apart. It will help him to put things into perspective. Give him the distance he needs to be able to make a fair assessment of what they are to each other.

He keeps on telling himself that for the next three days. But then Cas shows up again and, no, it's not for the best. It's not at all. Not when it means that Cas's eyes just pass over him like he's a piece of the crappy motel decor.

But Dean's got no stomach for being a lovesick fool. No how, no way. And if Cas has decided to end whatever it was that they had going on because he wasn’t in on the joke, well then so be it. So Dean just crosses his arms over his chest and meets Cas eye to eye, dead stare for dead stare.

Sam, however, is not quite as settled about the matter as Dean is. "I'll just give you some space," he says in the middle of Cas's report, picking up his jacket and heading for the door.

"This is an urgent matter," Cas tells him, but Sam just keeps on walking.

Dean clears his throat as the door slams shut behind him. "I'll fill him in when he gets back," he offers, moving to sit at the table. He gestures at the empty chair across from him, but Cas stays where he is. "Suit yourself," he mutters, leaning back.

Cas frowns. "If I had known that Sam would not be willing to help, I would not have come." He rolls his shoulders and Dean is certain that if he could see them, Cas's wings would have flexed.

"Ah, don't worry about Sammy. He's going to be on board. He just," Dean shrugs, "thinks he's helping?"

"How is it helping for him to leave while I am explaining why I need your assistance?"

Dean glances at the ceiling and sighs. "He wants us to clear the air. Have a heart-to-heart." He shakes his head. "The kid just doesn't know when to leave well enough alone. Look, I'll talk to him. Explain things. Everything will be fine. Just tell me what it is that you need and it’ll get done."

"Why would Sam think that we need to have a 'heart-to-heart,' Dean?" Cas asks with a hard edge in his voice that makes Dean’s teeth clench.

He forces a smile and a lighthearted chuckle. "It's Sammy. When does anything he things make sense?"

Cas stands there for a moment, his expression changing from confusion to something else, something Dean can't quite pin down. "I see," he says, his voice flat. "It was a mistake for me to come here."

"No!" Dean is on his feet and across the room before he even realizes what he is doing, but it doesn't matter because just like that Cas is gone.

*

It takes a little over a week for Dean to realize that Cas is not coming back, no matter how much he prays, and about another two months after that for him to be fine with it. Or if not fine, at least not cut up about it. They weren't anything more than friends with benefits anyway. Even though it makes him uncomfortable to think of things with Cas like _that_ , it's still true. Nothing was ever said about feelings or the future or anything. And, while Dean still feels like someone’s punched him in the gut any time he lets himself think about it, he is trying to move on. Because that's what you do when someone leaves you. You move on.

The problem is, Dean doesn't really want to move on. Not even a little bit. Dean wants to wallow in his misery. He wants to spend all day, every day, carefully examining each word, every expression, trying to figure out the whys and wherefores of the thing. It doesn't make sense, but there it is. And it takes a concerted effort on Dean's part not to spend the vast majority of his day rehashing every piddly little detail with himself. But it's an effort he's making and that's pretty much the best anyone can do.

So, of course, that’s when Cas decides to show up again.

*

"Cas!" Sam all but shouts, knocking over his protein shake. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Cas blinks at him. "I have a job for you," he says like he hasn't been MIA for nearly three months.

"Goody for us," Dean mutters, flipping a page in the book he is no longer remotely interested in reading.

"There is a situation that needs your expertise," Cas continues, completely immune to the icy reception he's getting. "I can give you the details on the way."

Sam stops mopping up the mess he made and sort of grimaces at him. "Um, dude. We're a little busy at the moment."

Cas pulls a constipated face. "I wouldn't bother you unless it was important."

"I know. And I really wish we could help," Sam says with a look so filled with fake sincerity that it would fool anyone other than Dean.

Dean gives himself a moment to feel grateful to his brother for his show of solidarity before shaking his head. "We'll do it."

"Dean." Sam shoots him a look that lets him know how big of an idiot Sam thinks he is.

Dean gives him a rueful one in return. "You're an amazing brother, you know that, right?" he says with a fond smile. "But, like Cas said, he wouldn't be bothering to ask us if it wasn't important."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says with one of those endless stares of his.

Dean quickly looks away. "Whatever. I'm not doing this for you, _Castiel_. I'm doing it for whatever poor sap's found himself in hot water."

There is an intake of breath from Cas that makes Dean glance back at him. For a moment he almost swears he sees hurt in the angel's eyes. Then Cas's expression smooths out and when he speaks his voice is calm. "I understand."

Sam snorts. "The hell you do."

"Sammy." Dean's voice has a sharp edge.

Sam looks like he sucked on something sour, but he just nods and starts packing up his things. Dean does the same, trying to ignore the angel in the room, who is watching them without an expression on his face.

*

The situation is “dire,” to the point where Dean doesn’t laugh when Cas actually uses that word. Instead he stays quiet, grimly determined not to be the one who throws the wrench in the works. Cas, for his part, doesn’t have any problem whatsoever with Dean’s vocabulary shrinking to a few grunts. He acts like it’s nothing out of the norm and chooses instead to spend the whole of the three-hour drive making it very clear that this is hunt is going to be tens types of nasty. The sort of nasty that puts people into cedar boxes six feet under the ground.

And, honestly, for that Dean is grateful. Because it means that he has to be completely focused on what's about to go down. He can't possibly risk being distracted by the way Cas smells -- like fresh cut grass and ozone -- or the fact that Cas doesn't seem at all bothered by seeing him again. And why should he? _Cas_ is the one who did the leaving and Dean knows from experience how little the leaver cares about the feelings of the left behind.

Okay, so alright, Dean is so not able to ignore any of that. Which is probably why things go sideways and end with him bleeding from more than one place, needing both Sam and Cas to support him as he stumbles his way to the car.

Sam is in favor of heading to the hospital, but Cas gives him a look that says “dude I’m an _angel_ ” and then does that magic-healing-fingers crap of his and Dean's back to rights before Sam can say boo.

They check in to a hotel a few miles down the road, which is somehow Sam's cue to up and vanish and the next thing Dean knows, Cas has him pressed up against the wall, his hands wrapped up in Dean's hair and his tongue licking its way into Dean's mouth.

Dean, for his part, doesn’t object at all.

"Did you miss me?" Cas growls, his hips rocking into Dean's. "Did you miss this?"

Dean makes a sound he refuses to call a whimper and nods his head, wrapping his fists in Cas's trench coat to pull him closer. He goes in for a kiss, but Cas angles his head away. Dean blinks in confusion.

"Cas?" he asks, his hands falling limp to his sides.

Cas pins him with one of those do-or-die stares of his. "Are you sure that this is what you want?" he demands, pushing his body against Dean's.

Relief flows throw Dean like rain on the desert. "Yes," he replies. "God, yes." And this time Cas doesn't dodge Dean's kiss.

*

Sam takes in the tangle of bedding when he comes back and then lifts his eyebrows at Dean, who shrugs like it doesn't matter. Sam lets out a long sigh and shakes his head. "You need to watch yourself," he says, concern etched across his face.

Dean gives him a hard look "I'm a big boy," he replies. "I can take care of myself."

Sam makes a tsking sound. "You can't possibly think this is healthy," he says, his voice flat.

"Hi kettle, this is pot. Guess what? You’re black," Dean shoots back with a roll of his eyes. “Seriously, Sammy, don’t go there.”

"Do you really want to be the brother who wins the most fucked up human-non-human relationship award?" Sam demands, a wry expression on his face. "Because, dude, that isn't exactly a trophy you want to display on your mantle."

"I'm done talking about this," Dean says.

"Dean," Sam starts but Dean cuts him off with a shake of the head.

"Just drop it, Sammy."

And Sam does.

*

After that things sort of fall into a pattern. Cas shows up every two weeks or so, they handle whatever task it is he brings them, and then Sam makes himself scarce while Dean and Cas fuck. Half the time they don't even bother to get undressed, just move enough clothing to make things work. It's rough and fast and always leaves Dean feeling dirty, but he can't stop.

There are no long conversations. There’s no staring up at the stars. They don't spend any more time together than absolutely necessary. And the longer it goes on, the more empty Dean feels. But something is better than nothing and this is all Dean's got. Those few moments of contact. The way Cas's body feels pressed tight against him. The warmth of Cas's breath on his neck. The way Cas moans his name a second before he comes.

It's broken and wrong, but it's Dean’s nonetheless.

And Dean would have let it go on forever except for the fact that Sam, of all people, meets someone. She's sweet but sassy, with a hard edge that Dean can't help but admire, and fits nearly seamlessly into their lives. Her name is Caroline, but she prefers Caro and Dean likes her so much that he’s willing to put up with Sam’s resulting sappiness. But what really changes things for Dean is the way she looks at his brother. Like he's the most amazing man in the world and she's not sure how she got so damn lucky.

One day he says as much to her and she just laughs, shakes her head and replies, “That’s because he is and I am.”

And that, right there, is the moment when Dean realizes that he can't let things go on the way they are. Because Cas is never going to look at him that way and sure as shit will never say something like that about him and Dean is done trying to pretend that he’s okay with that.

*

"I'm tired," Dean says pushing Cas away as he tugs at Dean's hips. It's not the best excuse in the world, but it works, and, hey, Dean really is tired. Exhausted both mentally and physically from the strain of the not-relationship he's in.

"I can fix that," Cas instantly replies, holding two fingers out to touch Dean's forehead.

Dean grimaces as the wave of healing energy washes over him and takes a step back, breaking the contact. "That's not what I meant. Not really, anyway."

Cas's expression clouds. "I don't understand."

"No, I don't expect that you do." He gives Cas a half smile. "Look, I just . . ." he trails off with a sigh. "I can't do this."

Cas nods slowly. "You are,” he pauses, his brow furrowing up as he hunts for the right word, “not in the mood?" he asks finally.

"That's right," Dean says with a nod. "I'm not in the mood."

"Perhaps if I --" Cas starts but Dean cuts him off with a shake of the head.

"Cas, I'm never going to be in the mood. Not for you. Not ever again."

Cas takes an involuntary step back, his eyes going wide.

Dean winces, because even though it's clear the reverse isn't true, he does care about Cas and doesn't want to see him hurt. He makes a frustrated sound. "It's not working for me any more. This whole situation.”

"I see." Cas's voice is back to its emotion free state. "The situation is not to your liking."

Dean nods, glad to have finally gotten through. "That's right."

"It's the situation you find unsatisfying, not me."

Dean groans. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. "Cas," he says with a sinking feeling, "you’ve got to want more than this too. It can't be just me over here. You got to see that what we've got going on isn't --" he runs out of words, not knowing how to finish.

"Isn't what?" Cas snaps, anger flashing in his eyes.

"Good enough?" Dean hazards.

Cas’s mouth drops open as he gives a mute shake of the head and Dean instantly wants to kick himself for putting it in those terms. He reaches out for Cas, but the angel steps out of his reach, anger rolling off of him in waves. He seems to swell until he fills the room, growing so bright that it makes Dean eyes water to look at him.

"Not good enough?" he growls and his words shake the furniture. "I am not good enough for you, Dean Winchester? I am an Angel of the Lord." His wings flare into existence as the light bulbs in the room burst and sparks fly.

"Oh and don't you know it," Dean rages back at him. "Well, you know what, I'm done with you. I'm done with feeling like shit every goddamn time I'm with you. Why don't you just go find some other human to play mind games with? I sick of it and I'm sick of you."

Cas moves until he is nose to nose with Dean, his jaw clenched tight and his hands balled into fists. "I should have known that you would grow tired of me," he seethes. "I should have known that I wouldn’t be able to retain your interest. My brothers were right, you are never satisfied with what you have. I was a fool to think otherwise."

"Hey, don't you dare paint yourself as the victim here," Dean scoffs. "I’m not the one who ended things. I’m not the one who angelled-off in a huff."

"Ended things?" Cas's anger melts away into confusion. "When have I ever been able to end anything with you?"

Dean snorts. "Oh, so that wasn't you who just up and disappeared? That wasn't you who ignored me and my prayers for months? It was some other angel who looked like you and sounded like you?"

"Dean," Cas's wings flair again, "You’re not making sense. I have never left you. I could never leave you. Even when it became clear that all you were interested in was the shallow comfort of physical release, I couldn’t stay away from you."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Dean shouts, jerking away. He throws his hands up in the air and makes a disgusted sound before turning his back on Cas. "I didn't make a damn thing clear. You're the one who decided this is all you want from me. And, you know what, thanks for that. Thank you for showing me what this," he shakes his head, "what _I_ mean to you."

"I don't understand," Cas says softly.

Dean hunches his shoulders. "No, Cas. You never understand, do you?"

"Dean." Cas's voice is raw and aching, the way Dean's chest feels. But Dean doesn't turn around until after the sound of fluttering wings fades from the room.

*

What happens next is not something that Dean wants to think about but it’s all that seems to be on his mind. He can see the days stretched out long and empty in front of him. Days that will turn into weeks and then months and then years. All of them undoubtedly angel-free. And the knowledge that _that_ is his future makes Dean's stomach tie itself up in knots.

And then he starts to do it again, that whole self-recrimination thing. Starts examining and reexamining everything that he did and said.

He knows he's obsessing, but he can't help it. Same as he can't help being short tempered and in no mood to put up with Sam's perfectly happy relationship with his perfectly normal girlfriend and their perfectly blissful life.

Although, really, it's a bad idea to say so to Sam.

Which Dean would have known if he wasn't so damn obsessed with figuring out why his life has gone to shit again. And Sam really ought to be more sympathetic, seeing as how Dean put up with any number of Sam's creepy obsessions. Which, it turns out, is also is not a good thing to say to Sam.

And, having said all of the things he shouldn't have in a voice loud enough to wake the dead, Dean's not exactly surprised when Sam "leaves him alone to think." As if Dean needs to do any more thinking.

When Dean’s done as much thinking as any red-blooded American male can put up with, he breaks down and does the sibling equivalent of the walk of shame.

*

Dean is standing the front porch of Caro's house at half-past nine on a Friday night, trying to work up the gumption to actually ring her bell. He came all this way to apologize to Sam for being a tool, but now that he’s here, he’s hesitating. Because, dude, saying you’re sorry sucks. He takes a deep breath, and then rings the doorbell, because he’s a grown man in his thirties, damn it. He can handle admitting when he is wrong. Dean wants to ring the bell again, but he knows not enough time has passed, so he shoves his hands in his pants pockets and waits.

The door creaks when it opens, revealing Caro in faded Metallica tee and a pair of cut-off jeans. "Hey, Dean," she says with a smile. "You looking for Sam?" Dean nods in response. Caro leans against the door frame and crosses her arms over her chest. "He's gone off to do Lord knows what, but you are totally welcome to hang out until he gets back. I've got a couple of cold ones in the fridge, if you want. Or maybe some leftover pie?"

Dean cracks a smile at that. "Sam's lucky he saw you first," he says as she waves him inside.

Caro makes a noise in agreement. "So, what will it be? Beer? Or pie?"

"Do you even need to ask?"

"Pie it is," she replies, walking past him towards the kitchen. "How about you hang up your jacket and then join me at the table."

Dean does as he's told, even makes a detour to wash up on his own accord, and is rewarded with a giant slice of warm apple pie with a scoop of strawberry ice cream on top. "Thanks," he says, even though he's not really a fan of strawberry ice cream.

"You're welcome." Caro takes a bite of her pie, then closes her eyes, a blissed out look on her face.

Dean tucks in as well, savouring the taste of honest-to-God homemade apple pie. "Sam's _damn_ lucky he saw you first," he says when his bowl is clean and his spoon is good and licked.

"That's sweet of you to say," Caro murmurs as she clears their dishes, "but we both know it's a bunch of bullshit. You're heart belongs to your baby, your angel, and your brother. In that order too." She winks at him and turn the water on.

"My baby and brother, I'll grant you. But that angel?" Dean scowls. "Not exactly on my Favorite Things List at the moment."

Caro turns off the water and the shifts so that she's facing him. "So you're going through a bit of a rough patch. So what? It's clear as day that you're crazy about that guy. And I would put even money on him being just as into you."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Hey, do my brother a favor and stay away from the tracks."

She makes a face at him. "Oh yeah, I forgot. Mr. Macho Man."

"Damn right," Dean says, leaning back in his chair and giving her stink-eye for all he's worth.

Caro gives him as good as she gets, though, her pretty little face takes on a downright mean edge.

"So damn macho that you can't admit that you've gone and screwed everything up. Am I right?"

It's Dean's turn to make a face. "Look, Caro, I like you. I do. But you're walking a fine line at the moment and --"

"And what?" Caro cuts him off, slapping her hand on the counter top. "Damn it, Dean. How about you pull your head out of your ass and take a look around already?" She sighs and then crosses over from the sink into the chair across from him. "Aren't you tired of being angry and defensive all the time?"

Dean scowls. "I am not angry and defensive."

"Uh, yeah you are.” Caro runs a hand through her hair and sighs again. "Look, Dean, I like you. A lot. You're a cool guy. And I'm madly in love with your brother. So I haven't, you know, wanted to open my big mouth. But enough is enough already. You need a goddamn intervention. And since Sam isn't here, I guess it's up to me."

"Oh yeah?" Dean pretends to examine his cuticles. "Fine. Lay it on me. No holds barred."

She pushes up from the table. "Oh, you bet I will," she says as she storms over to the fridge. Caro takes out two beers, opens the bottles and then plops one down in front of Dean. She takes a long pull on hers, then moves back around the table to her chair. Dean takes a sip, watching her cautiously.

"You're a spitfire," he says when the silence is starting to get to him.

Caro rolls her eyes. "Oh God, you'll be calling me ‘feisty’ next and then I really will have to hurt you."

Dean grins. "Oh, princess, you're welcome to try."

Caro leans back in her chair, eyeing him like he's a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her favorite shoes. "Dean Winchester, you are as stubborn as a mule and twice as ornery, but I never thought you were a fool."

"That's because I'm not."

"Don't interrupt me, boy," Caro snaps.

Dean holds up his hand in mock surrender.

Caro's lips twitch up. She takes another drink, then continues. "It's clear as day that you care about Castiel. I'm not saying you love him or want to get married and settle down or any of that mumbo-jumbo, but you definitely care about him. A lot. And not having him around makes you as surly as shit. Now, I don't know what went wrong with the pair of you. And I'm not trying to assign any blame. All I'm saying is that you miss that trench-coat-wearing angelic idiot and it shows. So suck it up, already. Humble yourself a little and tell him that you were wrong. Tell him you miss him and that you're sorry for whatever the hell happened. And do it fast. Because, damn it Dean, Sam and I are sick of seeing you hurt."

Dean closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them again, he sees Caro studying him with an odd mixture of exasperation and sympathy on her face. Dean pulls a face in response. She just didn’t get it. It was obvious that Caro and Sam both thought he had ended thing and, to an extent, they were right. But he only ended it because, hell, it wasn’t even a ‘relationship’ anymore, if it ever had been to start with. Dean had been sick of pretending like he was happy with being a glorified fuck-buddy. And, for Christ sake, is he so wrong to want some to be all gooey-eyed over him? Why is Sam the only one who deserves to have someone who loves him?

"I wanted more than Cas was willing to give," Dean admits aloud, hating the way his voice breaks. "And, yeah, not having him around totally blows chunks. But I stand by my choice, damn it. If all he wants is a quick fuck every now and then, then he can just go find someone else."

Caro sucks in a breath. "Are you sure that's what he wants?" she asks, her brow furrowing.

"'Course I am."

Her lips sort of thin out a bit and she frowns. "I'm," she taps her fingers on the table top, "not sure you are right about that."

Dean blinks at her. "Are we talking about the same angel here?" Dean asks, incredulous. "About so high with mussed up hair, cut-you blue eyes, and stubble that never goes away?"

Caro gives him her own person version of Sam's bitch-face. "Yes, Dean. We are talking about the same angel. The one who cosplays Colombo and is totally batshit over you."

Dean shakes his head. "You're wrong."

"Am I?" Caro gives him a pitying look. "Am I really? Dean, when is the last time you talked to Cas about any of this? When is that last time you told him how you felt about him?"

"I'm not a chick," Dean snaps. "I don't talk about my goddamn feelings."

"And how's that going for you?" Caro asks, her eyes soft and sympathetic. Dean looks away, unable to answer. "Yeah," she says softly. "That's what I thought."

*

Dean doesn’t want to admit it, but Caro totally has a point. A point that he can’t ignore, no matter how hard he tries.

Maybe it wasn’t all Cas.

Maybe some of it was on Dean. Castiel is, after all, the King of Not Understanding. So that means that it falls onto Dean’s shoulders to make sure that Cas actually gets the message, which, honestly, Dean hasn’t really been doing.

Not that that makes Cas any less wrong, or the whole situation any less of a cluster, but Dean thinks that if he can sort things out, get Cas to see where he is coming from, that there might be a way to make it through to the other side of this.

Of course, that theory totally rests on the assumptions that somewhere in that feathered head of his Castiel actually cares about him. And that Dean can figure out a way to get in touch with him.

Which, really are pretty big assumptions, but right now they’re all Dean’s got to go on.

So he’s going to work it with all he’s got.

*

It’s nearly midnight, about two weeks after Dean has made his decision to find a way to fix things with Cas. He’s five hours into a _Dr. Sexy, M.D._ marathon when he suddenly gets a craving for a chocolate milkshake and fries. So he turns off the TV and heads out. But when he gets into the Impala, all Dean can think about is how much he wishes Cas was next to him in the front seat.

Dean drives in no particular direction and when he is a good half an hour away from anything that could even remotely be considered inhabited he pulls off the road. He ends up in a clearing in the middle of a wood, with a fat, yellow moon overhead. He takes a deep breath, contemplating his options and decides to just go for broke.

“Cas,” Dean shouts at the night sky, feeling like a jackass. “Castiel, get your feathery ass down here and stop ignoring me!” He dashes his hands through his hair and lets out a curse, knowing that Cas is going to blow him off like he has the last twenty times Dean has attempted to have this conversation with him.

He closes his eyes lets himself indulge in a bit of self-pity for a long moment. Then he shakes his head and sighs. “I need to talk to you,” he says softly, staring down at the ground. “I need to make you understand.”

Dean thinks he’s imagined the sound of wings until he hears Cas’s gruff, “Understand what?”

He lets out an honest-to-God whoop and rushes the angel, wrapping him in a tight hug. “Cas!” Cas puts his hands on Dean’s chest and pushes, breaking free of the embrace. Dean stumbles back a step, an ache blooms in his chest, but he still manages a smile. “I was starting to think you --” he starts, but Cas cuts him off with an impatient noise.

“You haven’t answered my question, Dean.”

Dean takes a half-step towards him, then stops when Cas takes a step back. That ache? Yeah. It multiplies tenfold, causing a lump to form in Dean’s throat and making it damn near impossible for him to speak. But speak he does. “I’ve been thinking a lot about things,” he says, his hands reaching out in supplication. “And I’ve realized that maybe I was wrong. Maybe my take on the situation isn’t in sync with yours. I wanted to, you know, talk to you. Try and see things from your side.” He gives Cas a hopeful look.

Cas frowns in response. “Dean, I,” he clenches his hands and then shakes his head. “No. I’ve made my peace with this. You were right, Dean. I want more. So much more. I am willing to deny myself in order to have it.”

“That’s good!” Dean says, his voice sounding desperate even to his own ears. “Let’s talk about it, talk about what you want. Work things out. I know I’ve fucked up before, but I’m sure that if you just, I don’t know, tell me what it is that you want, I can find a way to give it to you. Please, Cas. I just want to fix this.”

Cas’s eyes slide away from his. “I don’t believe that you can, Dean.”

Dean feels like he’s been sucker-punched. “Cas,” he starts, but again the angel cuts him off.

“No. I don’t want to hear any more. I’m tired, Dean. Tired of trying to comprehend the motives behind the things you do and say. I tried. I did what you wanted, gave you what you humans refer to as ‘space.’ I put my own desires second to yours and for what? To be told that even that was not good enough.” Cas closes his eyes and then slowly opens them. “I understand now why intimacy between angels and humans is taboo. The needs of our kind and yours are too often not compatible, no matter how much I might wish otherwise.”

“Not compatible?” Dean repeats. He shakes his head. “That’s a big, steaming pile of horseshit.”

Cas growls. “It is the truth. Accept it as I have, Dean. Or don’t. Either way, it won’t change the validity of the statement.”

“I’ll show you not compatible,” Dean mutters under his breath, and then he launches himself across the space between them.

He wraps one arm around Cas’s waist as the other comes up to tangle in his hair, kissing the angel for all he’s worth. Cas responds instantly, making a soft mewling sound that sends heat racing through Dean’s veins. Cas’s hands slip down to Dean’s hips, pulling them tight against each other and the kiss takes on a desperate edge. They break apart to nip and bite at each other’s mouths before diving back in for another round, bodies rocking together in an achingly familiar manner.

Then, without any warning at all, Cas vanishes. He appears again at the edge of the clearing, with his shirt half pulled out of his pants and his hair standing up in silky spikes, looking so damn debauched that Dean aches for a whole other reason.

"Cas?" he asks, not willing to make a move until he's sure that the angel won't bolt like a skittish colt.

Cas glowers at him from across the clearing and lets out a string of angry sounding Enochian. His hand slashes through the air. "No. I refuse to allow you to do this to me. I know what I want. I know what I deserve. I will not let you tempt me into anything less."

Dean lets out a bemused snort. "I'm not trying to tempt you into anything! All I’m trying to do is prove to you how damn compatible we are. For fuck’s sake, Cas, you can’t deny that.”

“You have misinterpreted my use of the word ‘compatible,’ Dean,” Cas says. “There is no denying the attraction between us. Unfortunately, my kind requires something deeper than that. I wish I could express myself more clearly, but there are no human words capable of it.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Well isn’t that just convenient. ‘I swear I would explain it if I could, Dean, but you’re just too damn human to understand.’ Whatever. Why don’t we just toss that on top of that the pile of crap you’re shoveling, Cas. Because that’s what it is. Horseshit. Plain and simple.”

"No, Dean. It isn't." Cas crosses the space between them in a split second. "But I can tell you what is. This. You and your prayers. I have important work to do and you are constantly distracting me from it."

"I'm trying to explain," Dean protests, but Cas runs right over him.

"I don't have time to listen to you prevaricate."

Dean makes a frustrated noise. "Can't you just shut your yap long enough for me to tell you why I asked you to come down here in the first place?"

Cas gives him a condescending look. "You've already made your reasons perfectly clear and I am not interested."

"No, I don't think I have," Dean snaps back, but Cas isn’t there to hear him.

*

The aftermath of their encounter leaves Dean filled with rage. He goes around slamming things, driving like a douche, and generally making a jackass out of himself. It’s about a week before Sam finally has had enough of it. Neither of them pull any punches in the argument that follows and Sam storms off in a huff to stay with Caro.

Which just leaves Dean alone with himself. Alone with his chaotic thoughts, his unhappiness, and all of that rage. And, damn it, Dean’s already done this shit before. He’s already played this hand once already and he knows from experience that all he’ll be left with in the end is a whole heap of suck.

So, this time Dean just cuts to the chase. He sucks it up and apologizes, _again_. And then doesn’t say shit in his defence while Sam tears him a new one. Because, yeah. He kind of deserves it. When Sam finishes saying all he has to say, he asks Dean what the hell he is going to do to make things right with Cas again.

Dean has no good answer, but he knows what he isn’t going to do: give up. Not now. Not when he finally understands what it is that he wants. Cas. With him. _Really_ with him. For keeps.

He's not into any of that touchy-feely emo crap that Sam has embraced, but he can't lie to himself either. Somehow, against all odds, he's fallen in love. With an angel. Who won't have anything to do with him. Which, really, is the story of Dean's life.

So Dean prays, and prays, and prays some more. Because if he got through to Cas before, then surely he can do it again. And so Dean prays as often as he can, practically screaming his thoughts in Cas’s direction, hoping that if he is persistent enough, that Cas won’t be able to ignore him. Except, of course, he does.

When it becomes clear that all that praying isn’t doing jack, Dean switches tactics. He calls Cas every way he can think of, up to and including on that cellphone of his. And, if that wasn't desperate enough, he even tries to get at Cas through the few denizens of heaven who will bother with him.

Nothing works.

All of which leaves Dean filled with an overwhelming sense of dread and the knowledge that, if he doesn't figure out a way out of this soon, then he might as well just get use to his life being an angel-free zone.

*

Desperate times call for desperate measures and so Dean finds himself jerry-rigging together a spell on the edge of a rock quarry in Upstate New York. It's freezing out and his fingers have long since gone numb, but there are very few locations that meet the requirements and Dean’s not about to back down on account of a little pain.

"This is the single most stupid idea you have ever had. I know I’ve said it before, but this time I really mean it."

Dean glances up at Sam, then snorts and shakes his head. “You don’t have to be here.”

“Yes, actually, I do.” Sam juts out his chin, his breath coming out in little puffs.

Dean ignores him, choosing instead to squint at the faded ink of the page. He frowns, then picks up a bag of wolfsbane and slowly measures out a thimble full.

Sam shifts impatiently beside him. "This is really dark magic, you know that right?"

"It's only dark if you actually go through with the sacrifice. And I'm not going to."

Sam snorts. "You're splitting hairs there."

Dean flips him the bird as he tries to decipher what the next step is.

"You know, even if this spell isn’t a crock of shit, and you manage to summon him, this still isn't going to work," Sam says right when Dean’s almost got it figured out.

"Shut your piehole," Dean snaps back as he reaches for the chicken talons. "I'm sick of listening to you and your negative attitude."

Sam lets out a loud sigh. "It's not negative, it's realistic."

"Whatever it is, keep it to yourself." Dean starts grinding the talons down, grunting a little with the effort.

"Dean," Sam tries again, his voice filled with exasperation. "All you're going to do is get yourself hurt. How is any of this supposed to fix things between you and Cas? You do realize that _summoning him against his will_ is not going to go over well with him, don’t you? And that, even if he isn’t uber pissed, he’s probably still not going to instantly realize that he loves you and is the world's biggest idiot for letting you go?"

"Who the fuck says I want him to realize he loves me?"

Sam gives a humorless laugh. "Are you joking?" He gestures to the setup. "I know you, Dean. I bet I know you better than you know yourself. All this? It wouldn't be happening unless you were ass over elbows for him."

"Yeah, well," Dean puts down the mortar and pestle and stands up, slapping his hands on his legs to knock the dust off of them. "So what if I am?"

There is a frustrated noise from Sam's direction and when Dean glances at him, he sees that Sam's got his hands fisted in his hair and a you-are-so-unbelievably-stupid look on his face. "Why don't you just tell him that?" he demands.

Dean scratches his cheek. "Don't you think I've tried that, Sammy?"

Sam's eyes go wide and his hands drop to his sides. "Oh," he says.

"Yeah. _Oh_." Dean shakes his head. "I'm doing this because he won't listen to me. And, yeah, I know it's most likely not going to work and I'm going to have some serious explaining to do when he gets here. And maybe this whole thing is just going to blow up in my face, but you know what? That's a risk I'm willing to take. Because if I don’t then I have to just figure out a way make the rest of my life work with a giant angel-sized hole in it!" Dean winces as he realizes that he's shouting. He gives a helpless shrug and quietly says, "Jesus, Sammy, do you think I would be going to these lengths if I thought there was any other way?"

"You are an extremely foolish man."

Dean spins on his heel, nearly over balancing himself. "Cas!" He takes an involuntary step towards the angel, who frowns in response. Dean freezes, not wanting to do anything that might make him vanish again.

Cas narrows his eyes. "There are a number of other ways to gain my attention, Dean. You did not have to decide defile yourself."

"That's what I told him," Sam says with a snort. "But the angel withdrawals he is going through must have poisoned his brain or something, because he wouldn't listen to me."

Cas's gaze flickers to Sam and then back to Dean again. "Please do not distract me, Sam."

Sam holds up his hands. "No worries. I'm going to just take myself off to a movie or something." He gives Dean a reassuring smile. "Go get 'em tiger."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Piss off already."

"I'm going!" Sam says, then makes good on his words by all but running out of the rock quarry.

Dean watches Cas watch him go. The silence stretches out between them until Dean thinks he'll explode if he doesn't do something, say anything. He opens his mouth, ready to say God knows what, when Cas beats him to the punch.

"A ‘giant angel-sized hole’?" he asks, his eyebrows quirking up.

Dean clears his throat awkwardly. "Uh, yeah. That's what it feels like."

Cas almost smiles, his lips definitely twitch anyway, but his voice is flat when he says, “At first I thought it was just me, that there was something I was missing. But now I see that your motives don’t make sense to anyone. Not even your brother."

"Yeah, well, ditto to that," Dean mutters, forgetting for a moment that this is so not the time for snarky quips.

The comment doesn't seem to have done any damage though, as Cas just continues to study him like he's a one of those hidden-image posters or something. Like if Cas squints at him in just the right way, Cas’s whole point of view will change and all the confusing bits will suddenly make sense. In the face of such a stare, Dean can’t help but squirm. He shifts from foot to foot, then clears his throat, only to have to shake his head in response to Cas’s expectant look.

"I'm sorry," Dean blurts out, hand half reaching towards Cas, who frowns at him and puts even more space between them. "I'm so sorry. I'm bad at this whole talking thing. I know that. And I know I'm surly as shit and a pain in the ass and a total douche besides. I can't change that. It's just who I am. But that doesn't mean that I don't care. I've been a wreck without you, Cas. And, if," he sighs and stares at his feet, "Look, I'm not happy. I'm not happy at all. I thought that I wanted something different, something more. But, you know what, I don't. What I want is you. Anyway I can get you." Dean looks up, his eyes going to Cas's impenetrable ones.

Cas's tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. A furrow forms on his brown and it's all Dean can do not to shout at him, not to cross the distance between them and grab his lapels and shake him until he admits that he misses Dean too. He clenches his hands, determined not to be the first one to break.

There is another of those thousand-year-long pauses and then Cas tilts his head to the side and says, "It’s possible that I misjudged the situation."

"Oh?" Dean lets out a bitter laugh. He just bared himself to the bone, and that is Cas’s response?

Cas's eyes widen a bit at that, just enough to let Dean know that the angel is more affected by the conversation that would readily appear. "I thought you’d become indifferent to me," he explains slowly, like he's double checking each word in his head before he says it. "I was," a slight pause, "displeased with that. I was upset, more upset that I like to admit, and because of it I made some very bad choices. I had hoped my actions would force you to reconsider your indifference. I can see now that all they did was drive you even further away.”

"Indifferent?" Dean repeats, startled, "I have never been anything even remotely resembling indifferent to you, Cas."

This time he does take a step towards the angel. Cas doesn’t retreat, so Dean takes another step, and then another until they are standing almost close enough to touch. But when Dean tentatively reaches out a hand, Cas’s expression clouds. Dean drops his arm, hand clenching into a fist.

"As I said, my actions make little sense in retrospect.” The angel grimaces. “I apologize for any hurt you might have felt. It was not my intention."

Dean frowns. "You know, this is starting to sound more and more like a break-up speech. Except you dumped my ass ages ago. What gives, Cas? Why are you here?"

"I did not 'dump your ass,' Dean," Cas says with a startled expression. "I was avoiding temptation. I had thought it would clear your mind. And perhaps it did, if that speech of yours means what I think it does."

"What!" Dean looks at Cas like he's lost his grasp on reality. "How the hell were you doing that? You weren't even around."

Cas shifts his shoulders. "Of course not. I can't resist your wiles."

Dean nearly chokes. "My what?"

"Your wiles," Cas repeats like saying it a second time will make it make sense.

"Women have wiles, Cas," Dean splutters. "Not men."

Cas's face wrinkles up in confusion. "Men most certainly have inherent powers of seduction, Dean." He takes half a step towards Dean. "Yours are particularly potent. I cannot be within twenty feet of you without wanting to touch you, to taste you, make you mine."

Dean swallows, his throat instantly going dry. "Swagger," he manages to say. "It's called swagger."

"The word does not matter." Cas takes another step towards him.

He shakes his head. "Never mind my swagger, Cas, and get back to the part about clearing my mind." Dean narrows his eyes. “What exactly were you trying to prove anyway?”

"As I said before, there are no words for what it is. I understand how frustrating that answer is for you, Dean, but it is the truth." Cas lets out a sigh. "I've done some thinking on the matter since our last conversation and I think I have found a way to explain it. Although, I warn you in advance, the words I've found are not nearly strong enough." He sort of ducks his head, looking up at Dean through his lashes, clearly waiting for some kind of response.

Dean gives him a weak smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Thank you." Cas goes impossibly still, like he is bracing himself for a storm, then he says, "There is a bond between us, Dean, linking your soul to my grace. It was forged when I raised you from hell. Such a thing is not uncommon in the circumstances. But then it changed. My interactions with you morphed it into something new, something different. Even now it burns in me, like a fire in my chest. It makes me want to be near you always. I ache for you, Dean. In ways that I do not fully understand." Cas looks down and away.

"Hey," Dean says softly and smiles when Cas glances up at him. Dean licks his lips, wanting to say something about feeling it too, but Cas starts speaking before Dean can.

"I wanted you to acknowledged that bond, to tell me that it wasn't one sided. I wanted you to realize that what we had was deeper, more intimate. I had hoped my absence would leave you bereft, unable to deny this connection between us. I wanted to hear you say that it was more than just physical between us.”

Dean feels a sappy look come onto his face and doesn’t even care. He closes what little distance remains between them. "You grade-A idiot," he teases as he presses a gentle kiss to the corner of Cas's mouth, "Haven't you been listening to me? I love you, Castiel of the Dirty Trench Coat, Patron Saint of the Perpetually Confused. I love you so much I'm willing to _talk_ about my _feelings_ like some sort of teen-aged girl. And, from the sounds of it, you love me too. So let's just, get gay married or something and be done with it already."

"Marriage is marriage," Cas says slowly. "Whether it is between a man and a woman or a man and a man.”

Dean snorts. “Okay, fine. Whatever. Let’s get _angel_ married then.”

Cas gives him an amused look. “Angels do not get married, Dean. Although there is a way to bind two angels together. Oddly enough, the closest thing you have to describing it is Vulcan soul-bonding, which I’m sure you’ll find ironic.”

“Seriously, Cas?” Dean gives him a skeptical look. “ _Soul-bonding_?” Cas opens his mouth, but Dean cuts him off with a shake of the head. “Sure, why not? Let’s get _soul-bonded_ or what-the-fuck-ever already.”

Cas captures Dean's face in his hands, holding him steady as he nips and licks at Dean's mouth. Dean moans in response, his hands coming up to cup Cas’s face. When Cas pulls back, his eyes are dark with emotion.

"You are mine," Cas says, his voice low and rough, as his wings flaring into life behind him.

“Yes, yes I am.” Dean’s arms tighten around Cas, pulling him close. The angel’s wings flex, then seem to almost wrap around them as sparks fly and Cas claims Dean's mouth for another in a long lifetime of live-wire kisses.

  


**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set in La-La-La-Season-Six-Doesn’t-Exist-Land. Also: The name of this fic comes from [Feel it in my Bones](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y0LO6v43YCo) by Tiësto featuring Tegan & Sara, which I listened to on repeat while writing it.


End file.
